


A Life Once Happy

by KibblerEars



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Illnesses, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KibblerEars/pseuds/KibblerEars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There's nothing we can do.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The doctor's words play on repeat in Phil's head as he clutched Clint's hand. This was it. This was the end for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Once Happy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/gifts).



> Written for a drabble prompt from Kisleth.

Phil forced himself to remain calm as he gripped Clint's hand.  The doctor's words had turned into a dull, monotone drone of nonsense; the last clear thing he had said buzzing through Phil's brain on endless repeat. 

_There's nothing we can do._

His vibrant, beautiful Clint who had helped him through so much; who had seen Phil through the worst of times and the best of times; his Clint was dying and there was nothing Phil could do this time.  

His grip on Clint's hand tightened as Phil clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to cry for the first time in many, many years.  He couldn't look over at Clint, could barely see the doctor who was still going on and on. But he wasn't saying anything. Why was he still talking? Should he be listening to this? But how was he supposed to hear anything over the roaring in his ears; over the thudding of his heart that was so loud he was sure Clint could hear it. 

And suddenly, there was a mouth next to his ear and a familiar, warm voice, tight with panic and worry, was pleading with him to breathe, to come back to him.  

He fought; fought his way through the blurriness of his vision and the blood in his ears; fought his way back to Clint, pale and stricken, with his forehead pressed against Phil's. One of his hands moved of their own accord, cupping the back of Clint's head, fingers carding gently through the soft, slowly thinning hairs there, aching for the time when he had a full, thick head of hair.  

Clint's eyes were red and rimmed with tears but he still offered Phil a small, watery smile as if to say "welcome back." Phil choked back a sob and forced himself to take a deep breath, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Clint's pale lips, breathing in his partner.  

Neither of them noticed the doctor leave them alone; neither of them noticed as the sky outside went from day to night. They only noticed each other, clinging to each other through the stars and sun.  At one point, Phil doesn't remember when, he shifted up on the bed to lay next to Clint, their foreheads still pressed together, their legs entwined.  He doesn't remember closing his eyes and drifting into a restless, dreamless sleep.  

But he does, clearly, remember the soft whisper of Clint's last "I love you," and he remembers feeling the last breath Clint Barton would ever take ghost across his skin. 

He remembers waking to see Clint's deathly still body next to his and finally losing his battle against his tears. He remembers pulling Clint close and losing himself to his grief. He vaguely remembers Natasha pulling him away so they can take Clint from him; doesn't remember the way he protested until she was forced to subdue him. 

He remembers standing over a closed casket and thinking this isn't what his Clint wanted. He remembers crawling into their bed, alone, for the first time; remembers pulling Clint's pillow to him, with the ridiculous Hawkeye pillowcases he made Phil buy once, a long time ago. 

Phil remembers that the way Clint's warm body moved against his; the way he fit against Phil when they clung to each other after particularly rough missions in an attempt to reassure each other that they were all right; that they were still there, together, not alone. 

And he remembers, with startling clarity, that he's alone again; that there's no one who will come to him at the end of the day; that he'll return to this empty apartment and live in the ghostly echos of a life once happy. 

The tears streak down his face, silent and steady, until there's nothing left but dry, red eyes, and the shell of the man who used to be Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.


End file.
